


Sucker Punch

by WriterOfBlocks



Category: Saints Row
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 00:33:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16230509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterOfBlocks/pseuds/WriterOfBlocks
Summary: What's better than seeing the person you might be in love with wearing a dress at a photoshoot?





	Sucker Punch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saintsrow1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsrow1/gifts).



> Happy belated birthday Mary, have some fuckin' nerds being nerds.

Gat was used to photoshoots. He could tolerate them, at the very least. Entering into a partnership with Ultor hadn’t been his idea-far fucking from it- but in exchange for the bright spotlight the Saints had free reign to do whatever the fuck they wanted and look good doing it, courtesy of the PR Department. If photoshoots were the price to pay, he’d pay it.

Didn’t mean he had to fuckin’ like everything about them.

“Please stop fiddling with your tie, Mr. Gat.”

“It’s too fuckin’ tight,” he grumbled, tugging on the silken fabric.

“Perhaps,” the assistant admitted, a sheepish look on her face. “Unfortunately for you, the stylist has a particular look in mind, and loosening the tie would ruin the lines of the outfit-”

Personally he couldn’t tell the difference between all the fancy suits they stuffed him in, but whatever. He held up his hands in surrender and went back to ignoring the way the assistant buzzed around him like flies on a summer day. There had to be an out somewhere, something that could break up the boredom and frustration. Pierce and Shaundi were off who fuckin’ knows where, probably on stage, he wasn’t paying attention. And Vi-

The clack of high heels against the tile of the studio. “Excuse me.”

Great. Another person to try his patience. Gat turned, opened his mouth, and  _fuck_ , that was Vi. That was Violet in a jaw-droppingly gorgeous dress coming his way and every harsh word he’d been about to let loose curled up and died in his throat.

Violet casually slipped her arm through his, like she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on his thought process.  “Do you mind?” she said to the assistant. “I’ve got some…  _business_  to talk about with him.” She let the word “business” drop with a sweet venom, coating it with the implication of their less than savory work.

The assistant nodded as fast as her neck would let her.

“Good,” Violet purred, and she was tugging him away somewhere.

 _Thank fucking Christ_. Now if only he could get the part of his brain that was connected to words to work.

He’d always known Violet was attractive- hard not to- it just wasn’t, you know, at the top of his mind. It was always background noise, a kind of thing he knew for certain about her. She was deadly with a gun, she ate Freckle Bitch’s with a speed unmatched by any other human being, and underneath the casual attire she preferred she was drop-dead gorgeous.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her in a dress, either. They’d done formal shoots before, just… never with a dress like this. The stylist had kept it simple- sleek and form-fitting on the top, thin spaghetti straps holding the bodice up, a flowing, floor-length skirt underneath. A slit in each side of the skirt skirt offered a cheeky, tantalising peek of a leg. Purple, of course- had to be purple- a dark, almost plum that contrasted her shockingly white hair.

“Everything all right up there, big guy?”

Gat blinked. Somewhere in the middle of his internal anguish she’d guided him to a quieter corner of the room. He inclined his head, offering a reassuring smirk that was utterly divorced from how he was actually feeling.  _It’s just her. Just Vi_. “So did you actually have business to talk about, or…”

“Nah.” Violet rested her arm on his shoulder and flashed a bright grin. “I just figured I’d play the prince in shining armor to your socially awkward princess.”

“Hey!”

Violet chuckled, low and smooth. “Seriously, though. I know those people always get on your nerves.” She smiled again, smaller than before but with the same warmth. “Just remember you can’t shoot anybody here, otherwise they’ll never pay us for the photos. And to be quite fuckin’ honest, it’d be a pain in the ass to fight our way out of here in this dress.”

She was right. With the slits in the skirt, the fabric had a tendency to wrap around her legs if she wasn’t standing perfectly still.

Not that he was looking.

And he  _wasn’t_  looking. If he had been, he would have stepped back as she stepped right in front of him. But all she did was reach her hands up and take his tie between her fingers, gently coaxing it back to where the stylist had originally put it. “Plus you look way too good in this suit to ruin it.”

Thank whatever fuckin’ thought of his suggested he start wearing mirrored sunglasses, because if they weren’t she’d be able to see the flash of panic in his eyes. She was too close now, nearly pressed up against him, hands on his chest in a way that was calling ideas to the forefront of his brain he thought he tamped down long ago. It would be so easy to wrap his arms around her, sweep her into a kiss…

She’s grinning up at him now. “Cat got your tongue?”

Shit, he needed to answer. “Did they, uh, do something with your hair?”  _Fuckin’ nailed it, Gat_.

Her grin widened. “Yeah, they did. The photographer wanted to do something different, and the stylist suggested letting it down for once.” Vi gave a playful shake of her head, letting the loose strands swing back and forth. “Do you like it?”

Right. He could give an honest answer to that. “Fuck yeah,” Gat replied, flashing her a grin in return. “It looks good on you.”

Was that blush on her face, or was she actually flushing? “Thanks,” she mumbled, reaching up to play with a strand. Score one for him in this game of ridiculous compliments.

“Boss and Gat!” An assistant called out from nearby. “You’re on in five!”

“Guess that’s our cue,” Violet sighed, dropping her hair. “You ready to go?”

 _Nope. Not in a million fuckin’ years_. “Yeah,” he said, lowering his grin into a simple smirk. He offered his arm, like he hadn’t just been blindsided by the most obvious of realizations.

It wasn’t _just her, just Vi_. He knew what this meant, how he felt like he’d been thwacked on the head with a frying pan. Actually no, he’d been hit with a frying pan before, and this was much worse. It was an internal ache and want, and it was wrapped up in the woman who took his arm, smiling calmly back.

_Well, fuck._


End file.
